


can't say i didn't try

by nxttime



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Gen, emotional angst, hella angst, it's my specialty, like real emotional, what can i say :D
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-16 11:07:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17548523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nxttime/pseuds/nxttime
Summary: Jason gets stuck with some truth serum. Feelings are had. Emotions are felt.





	can't say i didn't try

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [this post here](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/452264) by ghostyartblog. 



> I have nothing to say but ha. I think this was supposed to be fluff.
> 
> Whoops.

Jason groaned in pain, breathing hard, clutching at his side tight, eyes squeezed shut. He could feel a warm liquid dampening his gloves and mentally cursed. Maybe if the world would stop _fucking_ spinning, he could stagger to his feet and reach his helmet—that was on the other side of the room—to radio for help, or something. But _nooo._ He just _had_ to get stuck with some funky looking needle in the neck, and he just _had_ to get stabbed right above his hip as he fought.

Great fucking night, he’d say.

If he were entirely honest, Jason had sort of expected to die there, in another warehouse.

That would have been funny.

But he’d also expected what ended up happening, too. So when Bruce—the dramatic fucker he was—dropped down into the middle of the warehouse from the skylight, Jason flashed him a bloody grin, grimacing a second later at a sharp bolt of pain in his neck around the area they’d stuck the needle.

The Batman was quick to do a survey of the room littered with unconscious thugs and make his way to Jason’s side. He frowned at the large dark circle around Jason’s hands, moving them aside as he pressed a bandage over the wound, then replaced them with a quick, “Hold that.”

Jason grunted in acknowledgement, only to grimace again when Bruce stabbed something into his thigh.

“Ow,” he muttered despite himself.

Bruce ignored him and asked, “Any other injuries?”

“Probably bruised my ribs, a mild concussion—but, like, that’s hard to self-diagnose—and my neck’s a bit sore.” Jason paused. “Okay it’s real sore.”

When he finished, Jason blinked in surprise. What the hell? Bruce didn’t need to know about the ribs or his neck, and Jason hadn’t been planning on telling him about them! Why were his lips so loose?

Bruce seemed surprised too, but he simply frowned and slid one of Jason’s arms over his shoulder, tapping the comm unit in his ear.

“I’m bringing Red Hood back, and he needs medical attention.”

Jason didn’t hear Alfred—or whoever was on the other end of the line—respond, and he casted a longing look at his helmet.

Getting in the Batmobile was painful and a smidge bloody, but otherwise not too complicated. Bruce hopped in right after him.

Humming a little— _definitely concussed, then—_ Jason reached a crimson-stained hand to the radio. He remembered that _one station_ he’d adored as—back then. Jason wondered if it was still on air, what with all the time that’d passed.

_When was the last time I was here?_

Food for thought.

Bruce made no move to swat Jason’s hand away, surprisingly, and after a minute of searching Jason found the station. He sighed, slouching completely against the seat as _Stronger_ by The Score started playing. It was one of Jason’s favorite songs so, as it played, he mouthed along to the lyrics, eyes shut.

He was tired, okay? Sue him.

Sometime during the ride—Jason hadn’t even noticed when the car started fucking _driving, fuck that’s a smooth car—_ and lip syncing, Jason must’ve passed out because one minute he’d been listening to the low hum of the Batmobile, and the next he was on a bed in the Med-Bay of the Batcave, surprisingly snug.

Dick was sitting to his left, holding an ice pack against his head, when he opened his eyes.

Aforementioned annoying big brother grinned when Jason groaned, and said a cheerful, “Hey Little Wing!”

“Go ‘way,” Jason mumbled.

In response Dick simply grinned wider, and there was a glint in his eyes that Jason did _not_ like.

Dick knew something Jason didn’t.

This was not good.

“Are you nineteen?”

“Yes.”

“Are you Red Hood?”

“No shit I am.”

“Do you like reading?”

“What stunning academic prowess you’re so graciously bestowing upon me, o Dickface McGreyhairs,” Jason snarked. He was alarmed at how quick the answers were coming, but the questions seemed fine…

His brother fidgeted a little in his seat—could never fucking sit still—before leaning a bit forward and asking, “Am I your brother?”

“Yeah.”

Jason spluttered at his immediate response and Dick’s grin grew.

_What the **fuck.**_ First he went and told Bruce that he had a small papercut on his finger, and it seemed like he’d skipped grades to admitting _family ties?_

“I knew it!”

Jason’s eye twitched and he _really_ wanted to punch Dick right in that mouth of his, but he had to remind himself that it would probably only split the skin of his knuckles.

He was _this close_ to at least taking a swing at Dick’s chest when Bruce walked into the room, a clipboard in hand, cowl down.

_Bruce’s hair is getting pretty grey,_ Jason thought to himself with a small frown. When had Bruce started to get old? Wasn’t he, like, forty or something?

Bruce nodded in greeting, pausing beside Dick. “Jason.”

“Old man,” Jason drawled. “What’s the scoop?”

Dick snorted, shifting the ice pack he was still holding, as Bruce answered.

“Blood tests reveal a foreign substance in your body. Tim and I tried to synthesize an antidote, but the process is…” The corners of Bruce’s eyes tightened a little as he tried to word it how he wanted to. “Slow going.”

With a wide grin, Dick turned his head to meet Bruce’s eyes.

“I think Jason and I have a good idea what it is,” he reported _way_ to cheerily for such horrible news. “It’s like a truth serum, from preliminary trials.”

Dick started snickering and Jason groaned.

Bruce raised a brow at Jason, asking, “Is this true?”

“Yes,” he immediately responded, Dick parroting him as he laughed. Jason’s cheeks flushed and he took a swipe at Dick, who leaned back to avoid the hit, still holding the ice pack to Jason’s head.

“Ah.” Bruce cleared his throat, and glanced over at his second eldest, eyes filled with some weird emotion Jason couldn’t put a name to.

Dick glanced between them then stood, smacked the bag of ice he’d been holding into Bruce’s hand, slapped the man’s shoulder, said, “Well, you two have a _lot_ to discuss _in total honesty,_ so I’ll just make like a banana and split!” and walked out, humming to himself.

Jason gaped after him.

_Oh that asshole did_ not _just—_

Shifting awkwardly, Bruce took the seat Dick had previously occupied to press the ice against Jason’s head.

_Motherfucker, I’m going to_ kill _him when I get out of this bed…_

“Do you… Is there really something you want to talk with me about, or…?”

Fucking Bruce asking fucking questions when he knows _damn_ well Jason’s _going_ to fucking answer him the goddamn _fucker._

He realized trying not to answer would make his blood literally feel like it was _boiling in his skin,_ when he tried to avoid answering Bruce’s question. The pain that ripped through him forced a gasp, and Jason’s mouth blurted his response _without his consent._

_“Yes,”_ he hissed.

Bruce blinked, said, “Okay. What is it?”

_Fuck you, Dick. Fuck you, Bruce._

Jason sighed and went boneless against the bed he was on, muttering, “You don’t need to pretend, B, that you care. I-I know you guys dumped me a long time ago. You guys probably only put up this act because of Alfred, or something.”

“This isn’t an act.”

Jason glanced over to Bruce at the incredulity of his tone, a brow raised.

“Yeah?” he asked. “Thursday I came, you know, to the Manor. Alfred wanted me to help him with something, so I showed up.” Jason swallowed thickly, blinking away the moisture in his eyes and tearing his gaze from Bruce’s eyes to look at the rigid ceiling. “Imagine my surprise at seeing a family portrait on the wall, complete with Tim, Damian, Duke, Cassandra, the demon’s cats, and the fucking _dog.”_

The pain from remembering that had become an ache ever since last week; one that throbbed and persisted and haunted him even in his scare moments of sleep. It never left him alone.

Fuck, it hurt.

Bruce’s response took two minutes. _Two goddamned minutes._

“That was taken a while ago, Jason. That wasn’t a recent thing.”

“That’s a weak fucking excuse, Bruce,” Jason snapped, hands fisting the sheets over his legs. “It has _Duke_ in it! You just adopted him a couple of months ago!”

“And the portrait was painted _before_ I adopted Duke—”

_“Even better!”_

Bruce spluttered, seemingly puzzled at Jason’s plight, as Jason shook his head and swatted Bruce’s hand away.

Grumbling, Jason started to move into a standing position. He was leaving.

_Now._

“Just forget it, Bruce,” he muttered. His ribs greatly protested the movement, as did the wound above his hip, but Jason ignored the discomfort and pain, intent on leaving. He wasn’t having a heart-to-heart. Not today.

“No, Jason, wait—”

“All I want is to know you love me, you know,” Jason ended up whispering. He wasn’t sure why he was saying it, but he figured he’d simply blame it on the damn truth serum. “That you actually care; that it isn’t the kid who died that was your son.”

His hands were shaking, and Jason knew it, so he balled them into fists and pressed them against his eyes as he continued.

“I-I don’t even fucking care about the goddamn portrait, Bruce, because who knows if I’da shown up anyways? I care that I didn’t even _know_ about it. _Nobody_ told me about it. Oh, but you’re all quick to preach that I’m part of the family when I kill someone, but when it comes to _actual_ family shit? It… It’s like I don’t even exist—like you all _forget,_ dad, and _that… That’s_ what hurts.”

Jason paused, took a shaky breath, and continued again at a whisper.

“You know, the Robin gig was the best thing that happened to me. I got a house, I got clothes, I got food, a brother, a grandfather, and a _dad._ I got a family, Bruce.” A sob was stuck in Jason’s throat, but he forced himself to keep going. “Not even _dying_ took that away from me. I… _You_ guys still had _me,_ even when I was in the whole ‘criminal overlord’ thing, but I- _I_ didn’t have _you._ I _don’t_ have you guys, dad.”

When Bruce didn’t respond, Jason laughed but it came out as the sob instead. Tears streaked down his face but Jason snatched up his jacket from another chair, threw it on, and hurried out of the room.

He made it all the way to the bikes—had a helmet on and everything—before Bruce tried to follow.

Jason didn’t want to hear anything right now. Not from him.

So he revved the motor and was out of the ‘Cave like a shot.

Maybe he’d deal with it all later.

For now he was gone.

* * *

 

“Tim, dumb it down for those of us who _don’t_ speak complicated chemistry, please?”

Sighing, Tim turned from Bruce to Dick and handed him the paper he was holding.

“Basically working on the antidote was unnecessary; the thing burns out pretty quick. Takes maybe two hours, hour and half?” He shrugged. “Bruce and I wasted our time.”

Dick glanced up. “And with the accelerated healing from the Lazarus, that would what? Half the time?”

Tim pursed his lips. “Maybe, why?” He glanced to Bruce, whose expression had morphed from blank to stricken.

He looked back to Dick, confused. “What happened?”

Bruce abruptly pushed himself out of the seat he’d been in, briskly exiting the dining room.

Tim was so confused.

Dick sighed and sat back, running a hand through his hair.

“Basically,” he started, “Jason laid his feeling bare for Bruce, and B… Didn’t do anything. He just let Jason leave.” Dick shrugged. “He must’ve thought the serum thing was still affecting Jason, but you basically told him that it was all Jason, not under the influence of anything, who wore his heart on his sleeve for the first time _ever.”_

Tim blinked, then sighed.

“God, this family is so fucked up.”

“Yeah,” Dick agreed in a mutter, “it really is.”


End file.
